


Respite

by MusicalBloodDrop



Series: Vargas Drabbles [2]
Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Drabble, Drinking, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalBloodDrop/pseuds/MusicalBloodDrop
Summary: Drinking at least brings the walls down enough to have a quiet moment together.
Series: Vargas Drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888294
Kudos: 20





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while I was just the tiniest bit tipsy, thus why it's so short. I had a pretty small window of intoxication to write in lol

A breath, exhaled in simple, relaxed pleasure, the kind of sleepy comfort in between drinks, from one or two to too many, but not too few. A cushion to consciousness, not so far removed to forget the day but to put a soft and soothing fog over the details, enough to sink into the false plushness as the world became less distinct, more conceptual.

Familiar. Wasn't that familiar.

It's where he found himself, Scriabin resting back to chest against him, humming, and it rumbled through them both. No urgency to move, to do much of anything, just sit and quietly, privately luxuriate in the warmth and intimacy of the moment. The walls were low enough for both of them that he didn't feel the need to kick up a fuss, and apparently neither did Scriabin. Excuses always seemed hard to come by, so leaning into them every now and again when they were in agreement was a harbour guarded enough for both to simply enjoy the time before the storm eventually rolled over them again.

So dour. Inappropriate for the moment. He took another slow pull, letting the oily acidic taste linger for a moment longer than usual. Something else to focus on, the metallic flavour, and the thought drifted away. He let out a breath through his nose as he swallowed, closing his eyes. Scriabin kept humming, and the vibrations through their chests, source and residual, was something else to focus on. Something nicer.

Familiar. Maybe that was all they needed to be, familiar, to be seen as something preferred over strangeness, over uninvited newness, over change. In this moment, like a snapshot in time, shored up against hateful past and uncertain future, that quiet, soft vibration, a buzz inside and out, something undeniably theirs, that was familiar. They could fall into rhythm with that, whether it was hurting or healing, it was something they'd done so many times that it was their nature. Beyond change, beyond uncertainty, a background hum no louder than the quiet assurance that the other was there, that was so familiar that it filled him completely, made up his essence, assured him that he was here, they were here, and that was enough for him to coast on this feeling. Pliable as he was now, stripped down to whatever thought passed by him moment to moment, perhaps it only needed to matter for now. Tomorrow could wait, uncertainty could wait, change, inevitable, could still wait.

He hummed quietly in the spaces of Scriabin's breath, returning the gesture as unimpedingly as possible, and things remained as they were, and it was pleasant. The undefined edges were enough to make it all seem, however true they may have wanted and likely false as it was, familiar. In that twilight of thought, it was more comforting than anything else he could remember, and he rested peacefully on the surface of their shared, comfortable concession.


End file.
